Two weeks before New Year's Eve, Yeh booked her flight to Bangkok.
She didn't ask Fiona whether Lin would be coming; in fact, she deliberately avoided the topic, leaving herself a safe line of retreat. Her itinerary was carefully planned—scouting restaurants with Fiona during the day, exploring the city aimlessly, and heading to a bar for the countdown. Everything was designed to be relaxed and fulfilling, leaving no room for unnecessary anticipation.
Once the plane took off and the cabin lights dimmed, the city shrank away beneath them. Yeh had closed her eyes to rest when Fiona suddenly spoke up, as if remembering something casual.
"Oh right, Lin and Jing are coming too."
Yeh's breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
"They... are?" She turned her head, keeping her tone flat, almost indifferent, while her heart rate spiked without warning.
"Yeah, they said they need to shoot some content and they'd stay for the holiday," Fiona continued, scrolling through her phone before adding curiously, "Hey, what do you think their relationship is? They look like a couple, but then again, maybe not?"
Yeh stared at the back of the seat in front of her, her gaze unfocused. She forced her voice to sound rational, analytical even. "Probably not. They work together every day. It's hard to date someone you're that closely partnered with."
As the words left her mouth, she wasn't sure if she was answering Fiona or trying to convince herself.
But one thing had become undeniable—she was beginning to look forward to seeing Lin again, and the feeling was impossible to suppress.
Upon arrival, Yeh went straight to her room and showered. The water cascaded over her shoulders, washing away the fatigue of travel and attempting to rinse away the emotions she knew she shouldn't be harboring. She changed into a light shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, mindlessly swiping through her phone.
Every few minutes, her thumb would instinctively open Line.
Still no new messages.
She had prepared herself for this silence, had told herself not to hope, yet her body reacted more honestly than her mind. That subtle, aching sense of waiting never truly faded.
At eight o'clock in the evening, Fiona knocked. "Let's go! They're here, we're heading to Chula Night Market."
Yeh stood up and took a slow breath. She gave herself one simple instruction: Be steady. Be calm. Keep your distance. Don't show anything emotional.
Yeh and Fiona waited in the hotel lobby for Lin and Jing to come down. To Yeh, those few minutes stretched out endlessly.
She had mentally prepared herself countless times, yet the moment the person she had been missing appeared before her eyes, her face lit up and her breath caught in her throat.
It was Lin who spoke first, her usual warmth radiating through her voice. "So happy to see you guys again!"
Yeh couldn't find any words, managing only a simple, quiet "Hi." But she could feel her cheeks burning instantly.
It's just because Bangkok is so hot, she told herself.
The market was crowded and alive. Neon lights—red, blue, warm gold—blended together, casting everything in a vibrant glow. The noise of the crowd, the vendors calling out, and the music merged into a chaotic, welcoming atmosphere.
They naturally split into two pairs. Ahead walked Lin and Jing. Behind them, Yeh and Fiona.
Yeh positioned herself carefully—close enough to be part of the group, but far enough to maintain her defenses. Yet her eyes kept drifting back to the two figures in front of her.
Lin and Jing walked with an intimacy that didn't require holding hands. Their shoulders brushed occasionally before drifting apart; they leaned in instinctively when speaking, moving to the same unspoken rhythm; sometimes they would stop or start walking in perfect sync without a word exchanged.
It was a closeness that looked more convincing than any official relationship.
"Don't you think they really look like a couple?" Fiona whispered.
Yeh looked away, forcing herself to pause before answering so as not to appear too eager. "Girls can be really close sometimes. I'm not sure."
It was the truth. Yeh was never comfortable with excessive physical contact; she always felt one step behind when it came to reading intimacy, unsure exactly where the line was drawn.
Still, the same conclusion repeated itself in her mind like a mantra:
Lin and Jing are together. Don't get your hopes up.
They wandered through the stalls.
To anyone else, it was just a normal night out, but for Yeh, every detail was magnified. She couldn't speak as easily as she would with friends; every word felt calculated. Afraid of appearing too eager or too cold, she retreated behind her most familiar armor—polite, elegant, composed.
She smiled at Fiona's jokes; she answered Lin's questions about the production with professional precision. All her emotions were locked away, contained within a range that was just right—no more, no less.
The market lights caught Lin's profile, softening her features. Her dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and she looked warm and clear. Her voice was slow and gentle, like perfectly scripted dialogue that invited the imagination to wander.
Yeh dared not look for long. She stole glances only when she thought no one was watching, then quickly looked away. But every time she pulled her gaze back, it inevitably returned.
Yeh told to herself: They are perfect match, they must be together.
Occasionally, Lin would turn around. Her eyes found Yeh easily in the crowd, and with that soft smile, she would ask, "Yeh, are you tired?"
It was such a simple, ordinary question, yet it felt like a gentle tap against her heart.
"I'm fine," Yeh answered, keeping her voice steady.
Yeh didn't know why Lin looked back—politeness, habit, or genuine concern. But regardless of the reason, it was enough to crack the dam of her heart just a little.
Amid the noise and the crowd, Yeh acknowledged one undeniable truth: he was still falling for her. Even after mentally rehearsing how to pull away, even with logic screaming at her to keep her distance, that flutter remained—quiet, but stubborn. Restraint couldn't stop it. Suppression couldn't kill it.
But this time, she didn't reach for it. She tucked the feeling away in the deepest, quietest corner of her chest, refusing to amplify it or act on it. She let it exist there, almost invisible, carried along by the Bangkok night breeze, flowing slowly through the crowd.